He came in presently—­and he really merits a descriptive paragraph all to himself.

He was a very tall man and well made, with broad shoulders and a small head.  His evening clothes, though beautifully pressed, with that look which only a thoroughly good valet knows how to stamp upon his master’s habiliments as a daily occurrence, were of foreign cut and hand, and his shirt, unstarched, was of the finest pleated cambric.

These trifles, however, were not what rendered him remarkable, but that his light brown hair was worn parted in the middle and waved back a la vierge with a rather saintly expression, and was apparently just cut off in a straight line at the back.  This was quite peculiar-looking enough—­and in conjunction with a young, silky beard, trimmed into a sharp point with the look of an archaic Greek statue, he presented a type not easily forgotten.  The features were regular and his eyes were singularly calm and wise and blue.

It seemed incredible that such an almost grotesque arrangement of coiffure should adorn the head of a man in modern evening dress.  It should have been on some Byzantine saint.  However, there he was, and entirely unconcerned at the effect he was producing.

The waiters, who probably knew his name and station, precipitated themselves forward to serve him, and with leisurely mien he ordered a recherche dinner and a pint of champagne.

Stella Rawson was much interested and so were her uncle and aunt.

“What a very strange-looking person,” Mrs. Ebley said.  “Of what nation can he be?  Erasmus, have you observed him?”

Canon Ebley put on his pince-nez and gave the newcomer the benefit of a keen scrutiny.

“I could not say with certainty, my dear.  A northerner evidently—­ but whether Swedish or Danish it would be difficult to determine,” he announced.

“He does not appear to know he is funny-looking,” Stella Rawson said, timidly.  “Do you notice, Aunt Caroline, he does not look about him at all, he has never glanced in any direction; it is as if he were alone in the room.”

“A very proper behavior,” the Aunt Caroline replied severely, “but he cannot be an Englishman—­no Englishman would enter a public place, having made himself remarkable like that, and then be able to sit there unaware of it; I am glad to say our young men have some sense of convention.  You cannot imagine Eustace Medlicott perfectly indifferent to the remarks he would provoke if he were tricked out so.”

Stella felt a sudden sympathy for the foreigner.  She had heard so ceaselessly of her fiance’s perfections!

“Perhaps they wear the hair like that in his country,” she returned, with as much spirit as she dared to show.  “And he may think we all look funny, as we think he does.  Only he seems to be much better mannered than we are, because he is quite sure of himself and quite unconscious or indifferent about our opinion.”